


If He Should Die Before He Wakes (I Pray the Lord My Soul To Take)

by BeautyGraceOuterSpace



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones is a Good Friend, Doctor Bones, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Moments, Star Trek Into Darkness, jim doesn't like doctors, while jim is unconcious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 21:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10885275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyGraceOuterSpace/pseuds/BeautyGraceOuterSpace
Summary: Day one Jim’s heart had stopped. Twice. Day two had been better, unless you counted the seizure that hit at about 4AM. Day three had been uneventful. Day four had been the same. And day five. And day six. Day seven they had removed the oxygen mask, replacing it with a cannula as Jim began breathing enough on his own, though they still monitored his O2 levels carefully. Day eight they had amped up the fluids as his body began replicating cells on it’s own again. Day nine… day ten… it had been thirteen days. God, when was the last time he’d slept?





	If He Should Die Before He Wakes (I Pray the Lord My Soul To Take)

Day one Jim’s heart had stopped. Twice. Day two had been better, unless you counted the seizure that hit at about 4AM. Day three had been uneventful. Day four had been the same. And day five. And day six. Day seven they had removed the oxygen mask, replacing it with a cannula as Jim began breathing enough on his own, though they still monitored his O2 levels carefully. Day eight they had amped up the fluids as his body began replicating cells on it’s own again. Day nine… day ten… it had been thirteen days. God, when was the last time he’d slept?

Days, surely, unless he took into account the few hours here and there he had managed to nod off in the bedside chair. He was tired, _so_ tired, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave. Not now. Not until…

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he glanced for the hundredth time at the monitors. Heartbeat steady. Blood pressure steady. Oxygen levels good. Everything just as it should be, the reassuring beep of the heartbeat monitor helping him remember to breath, in, out… in… _beep_ … out… _beep_.

A hand on his shoulder startled him briefly, until a familiar voice said, “Doctor McCoy, you should return to your residence and rest. The captain will be carefully monitored, and you shall be alerted of any change.” He choked out a breathy laugh. If only it were that simple.

Looking up at Spock, he cleared his throat and rasped out, “I can’t. Not until he wakes up.”

Spock raised a questioning brow at his declaration. “Doctor, surely you see that this course of action is illogical? You can do no more for the captain than you already have. As you have stated yourself, he is unlikely to awaken soon. The transfusion took a toll on his body, and--”

“I know, Spock, I know,” he cut the half Vulcan off quietly. “But I have to be here when he wakes up. I don’t know when that will be, exactly, but it’s gonna be sometime soon, and I have to be here.”

Spock had been different since… more open, more unsure of himself,and Len knew that seeing Jim during those moments had been devastating for the normally stoic officer.

* * *

When Spock beamed back aboard with an unconscious Khan, he rejected all offers of assistance and carried the dead weight of the genetically modified soldier himself, hefting the weight all the way to MedBay. If anyone noticed the tear tracks staining his cheeks, underneath the dirt and green streaks of blood from his skirmish with Khan, they hadn’t mentioned it. He placed the man on a bed without a word, assisted in tightening the restraints, and then backed quietly into an out of the way corner to observe and, if necessary, interfere should Khan awaken. McCoy had instantly taken precautions against just that and Spock needn’t have worried, but his protective hovering seemed to distract him from his own desperate panic that their captain might not be able to be saved, so McCoy let him stay.

Uhura followed close behind, having taken a detour to alert the bridge that Khan was back on board and to be ready should any alarms be activated. She entered a few moments into the process of prepping Jim’s body--- no, damnit, Jim, just Jim--- and Khan for the transfusion, moving to stand behind Spock and, gently tugging at his sleeve, entwining her fingers in his in an untypically overt display of support and affection.

Scotty was already in MedBay, despondently being treated for his black eye, courtesy of Jim himself, and as he realized what was happening he, too, brushed off their efforts to treat him with a brusque, “See to the captain, I can handle a wee bruise.” He shuffled off to stand by Spock and Uhura, placing a hand on Nyota’s shoulder as she breathlessly watched them deactivate the cryotube that held Kirk, lift him onto a biobed, place his body in stasis, and prep the transfusion tubes.

The equipment was old and stiff, rarely used in their day and age, considered antiquated by most, but at that moment McCoy had never been more thankful for his tendency to insist on having tried and true, if outdated, supplies just in case.

Quick footsteps and a hasty glance alerted him to the arrival of Sulu and Chekov, who distractedly drifted to where the others stood clustered against the wall, their eyes on their captain, their hope palpable. Not for the first time since realizing that Khan’s blood may be able to save his friend, McCoy felt his heart drop into his stomach, a twinge of pure fear constricting in his chest painfully.

Jim’s skin was cold to the touch, and a choked sob escaped him as he taped down the needle in the crook of his arm. He took several forced deep breaths, nodding to his staff to begin the transfusion. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from Jim’s face, lax and motionless. He had never been an overly religious man, but he found himself praying to any god that could hear him: _please._

A minute passed in complete silence, and another. His staff busied themselves with the monitors, adjusting the settings and the reads. Three minutes. The blood moved quickly from Khan to Kirk, each still on their beds. Four minutes. His eyes filled with tears, his shoulders heaving with quaking breaths. Five minutes.

The hope gave way to utter defeat, and his world crashed down around him yet again. He could feel his knees buckling. He raised a hand to his eyes, clenching his teeth against a sob.

_Beep._

His eyes flew to the monitor and he rounded the bed to clutch at the screen in desperation.

_Beep._

“We have a heartbeat,” said a nurse from behind him. “Blood pressure rising.”

With a gasping breath, Jim lurched off the bed, frantic for air. For a brief moment, McCoy felt pure joy, and from the breathless laughs behind him, he knew the others did as well. Then the seizures started.

* * *

That had been thirteen days ago. The bridge crew had all come and gone several times, each time staying as long as they were able before being called off to a debriefing or by the call of sleep or hunger.

Spock lowered himself stiffly onto the remaining chair at Jim’s bedside. “Perhaps,” he said hesitantly, “You might agree to my presence in your stead? Temporarily, of course, only until you are sufficiently rested.” McCoy smiled slightly, his eyes never leaving the steady rise and fall of Jim’s chest.

“It’s not a matter of who else might be here, Spock. It’s that I wouldn’t be. I can’t do that to him.”

“Your loyalty to him is admirable, doctor… and most appreciated. If not for you---” Spock trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant to voice the rest of the thought.

“He’s not out of the woods yet, Spock,” McCoy whispered. _Please, kid… wake up._

“If I may?” Spock said. McCoy nodded. “The captain is remarkably strong, both in body and spirit. I believe… I must believe that he will return to us, in his own time.”

McCoy glanced at Spock with a grateful smile. “I hope so, Spock. I’ve done what I can for him. It’s up to him now.” Comfortable silence fell over the room, broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor. After several minutes, McCoy sighed and said, “I can’t leave him, Spock, because it was damn hard earning his trust and I don’t want the first thing he wakes up to to be some stranger’s face.” He hesitated, unsure how much to share with his friend’s first officer. Exhaustion, and the utter devastation and fear he had felt these last thirteen days, ultimately won out in a desperate need for someone, anyone else to know a bit of what he was feeling. How very human of him. Spock would be disgusted. “He doesn’t like doctors.”

Spock merely quirked a brow at him in question. “It would seem,” he said, “that you are the exception to this rule.”

McCoy smirked in spite of himself. “Don’t I know it.” He reached out and took Jim’s hand in his own, squeezing the limp fingers gently and taking comfort in the fact that they were warm against his skin. “Took a long time, but I got it through his thick skull that I’m not gonna hurt him.” He blinked, surprised at himself. He was getting into dangerous territory now, exhaustion making him loose lipped and likely to say something he didn’t mean to. Sensing Spock’s curiosity, he clarified, “Jim didn’t have the easiest time growing up. That’s all I’ll say on it. You want to know more, you can ask him if...when he wakes up.” _ __God, kid, please wake up.__ _

Spock nodded, and opened his mouth to respond when McCoy felt a pressure against his fingers. Jolting forward, more alert than he had felt in days, he sat motionless, watching Jim’s face. The fingers twinged again.

“Come on, kid, that’s it,” he said, standing quickly and turning the monitor with his free hand so he could more clearly read the results. The heart rate sped up. Beep. Beep. “Come on, Jim, please…” The eyelids fluttered.

Spock, too, had risen to his feet, swiftly sliding their chairs out of the way as McCoy circled the bed, reaching for a tricorder. Spock retreated to the corner, just as he had done during the transfusion, not wanting to be in the way, but still available to provide assistance if he could.

McCoy watched the monitors, heart pounding, his gaze shifting between the reads and his friend’s face. He could have cried when, with a gasp, blue eyes opened and, after slowly taking in the surrounding, sought his own. The recognition, the trust that instantly flooded Jim’s expression could have brought him to his knees.

Jim was exhausted. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and it was clear he was in no small amount of pain. But he was alive. He was _awake_.

McCoy could have laughed. He could have cried. He could have gathered Jim in his arms and told him he wasn’t ever allowed to leave the ship again once they got him back on his feet, but in that moment he was so overwhelmed, so thankful that Jim was awake, coherent, _going to be ok_ that he did what he knew best and fell into their tried and true routine; he let Jim know that he was going to be ok the best way he knew how.

With a shaky smirk that did little to cover his concern, he scoffed out, “Oh don’t be so melodramatic, you were barely dead.”


End file.
